The Things iCarry
by greyrooms
Summary: "We all carry these things inside us that no one else can see. They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea." Explore the burdens of Carly, Spencer, Freddie, and Sam. Finished as of 3/11
1. Carly

**Title:** The Things iCarry

**Summary:** "We all carry these things inside us that no one else can see. They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea."

**Disclaimer:** I don't own NUFFIN.

**Author's note:** I was inspired to write this after studying The Things They Carried in english class. It's a really, really good book, and I totally recommend it.  
But anyway, I'm not sure if anyone will actually be interested in reading this, but I sure do hope so.  
I pretty much just wrote it for practice, I wanted to practice writing in third person, and explore Carly&Spencer's characters a bit more; Sam&Freddie are so easy to write and I wanted to challenge myself a bit.

Hope you enjoy… talk to you later :P

* * *

Carly Shay constantly carried with her a small, black and white composition notebook. It was something many people did, she knew, all of them special in the eyes of their owner, and hers was no different.

Her notebook, for example, was decorated with circle stickers to look polka dotted. The spine was near-broken from perpetual use and then put back together with purple duct tape. The edges of the pages were coloured, which passed the time during study halls. She refrained from writing her name on the cover, fearing that God forbid, someone might get a hold of it.

What was written in her journal (she refused to call it a diary) was most important to her.

She felt constantly under pressure, mostly the pressure to be perfect, and she knew bottling up emotions would lead to a frequent amount of lashing out at the people she loved. This obligation never came from anyone specifically, Spencer was supportive of her in everything she did and forgiving when she made mistakes, and her father was the same, in a lesser role. Sometimes she thought that it was all in her own head, but it was still real to her and that was all that mattered.

She loved writing; it was a way to let out her frustrations privately, avoiding being judged and avoiding hurting peoples' feelings. Her writing was hardly ever in complete sentences, rarely even legible, it was an automatic, unconscious thing when her pen touched paper.

She revealed to her notebook the memories she would have most likely forgotten if it wasn't written down, what frustrated her that day, what she dreamed the night before, positive things, negative things, what she loved, what she hated. She felt that she nearly escaped madness every time she wrote. She was never unhappy with reality, though- but she was human, and had moments of weakness. Whenever she was overwhelmed, and worry pulled her below the surface, writing in her journal brought her out of the darkness and back to a decent emotional state.

Some of the little irritations she read over and laughed at how simple they were, for example, when she grew out of her denim skirt and thought she was getting fat and stopped eating breakfast for a few days. And then some were darker than that, like when she found the first (and possibly only) picture of her mother and got mad at Spencer for trying to hide it from her. The photo is now framed in the living room where everyone can see it, and Carly also carried it with her in her mind, where it could never be taken away.

Not everything she wrote was depressing, though, she tried her best to include happy moments- the moments in which she went outside of herself and saw how unperfect she was but was still truly happy with herself and her life. Moments she truly appreciated and didn't know who to thank for it. Some of them were simple and forgettable, like the many carefree nights she spent with her brother, driving down the highway at the late hours of night and blasting music. Or the weekly breakfasts she and Sam made Sunday mornings after their Saturday sleepovers. And then some were milestones that would be forever embedded in her memory even if she didn't write them down, like the proudness she felt after singing in front of a large crowd. Or the last episode of iCarly, which was filled with both laughter and tears as they watched their internet lives the past four years of high school.

Ultimately, Carly Shay left her burdens in her notebook. It was the only thing that kept them from stirring around her mind and eventually leaving her soul overcome with madness. Writing gave her strength and helped her face her fears, was always understanding and was never judgemental. It was the one thing she carried, a tangible version of her mind, each sentence was a thought, a worry, a frustration, an insecurity, a joke, an idea. And when they were written, they were no longer on the tip of her tongue, weighing down her soul, or out of her grasp.

* * *

Sooooooo… what do you think? :D

I wrote this one first because I thought it'd be the hardest one to write, Carly's really plain, in my opinion.

I think this is the shortest of all the chapters, but I do like it and I'm happy with it.

Next up… Spencer's chapter! I'll post that in one week!

Please R&R. You don't have to, though, no pressure.


	2. Spencer

**Title:** The Things iCarry

**Summary:** "We all carry these things inside us that no one else can see. They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea."

Disclaimer: I don't own NUFFIN.

**Author's note:** Shoulda posted this yesterday, guys. Sorry! If you haven't read the first chapter, it's not really necessary, but I'd recommend you do. All the chapters have really little references to the other ones.

Anyway, I got no feedback on the first chapter but I don't really mind because as I said, this was really just for practice. Anyway, talk to you after you read for my other comments.

* * *

Spencer Shay was forgetful, and because of that, chose not to carry around any tangible objects with him, at least nothing that wasn't absolutely necessary. But the weight he carried was within him, and he couldn't let go of it.

His loneliness began the day his mother died and haunted him every day since then. It stuck in his memory so clearly. August 25th, 1994, one month and one day after Carly was born. He was twelve years old. On that day he was wearing blue jeans with holes in the knees, a black tee shirt and a blue plaid shirt.  
His father gave him the news and his heart just… broke. That's all. His heart broke and he felt like there was a gaping hole in him, that everyone could see. He could never find the words to describe it, it just… sucked. That's all, in a nutshell, death sucks.

And from that day on he not only felt lonely, but truly alone.

Everything that was familiar and predictable in life was changed, all of the things that he held on to so unconsciously suddenly became conscious and it made him unhealthy, to say the least.

Like the way his mother always used to warm up her coffee in the microwave, forget about it, and leave it there.

He always expected her coffee mugs to be there when he would open it up but it was always empty.

He took down all the pictures with her in it, looking carefully at only the corners and then placing them facedown in the trash can.

The funeral came very quickly. He remembers his father didn't cry. Spencer had been constantly crying ever since she had died, he cried all night and all morning before the funeral, and he cried while he got dressed and his sobs showed no signs of slowing down. Looking in the mirror a few minutes before they had to leave, his father came into his room and sat him down on the bed.

"I know you're sad, son. I'm sad too." His father's voice was warm and inviting, though the way he stood over him and looked down at him was intimidating and almost threatening. "But now I need you to put on your bravest face. Let me see you be brave, Spencer."

And then his tears dried up, almost instantly after he said that. Spencer didn't cry at the funeral, either.

He didn't cry at all after that, no matter how much he wanted to. Sometimes he wanted to weep so badly, but it only added to the weight he carried internally. It was almost as if it had an opposite effect, all he wanted was a release, he longed to cry, but it only distressed him more.

Not long after the funeral his father left and went to the military, leaving him and Carly with their granddad. The goodbyes of his parents were never said and never explained and that's why it hurt him so much. It all just felt so unfinished. So incomplete.

Spencer went through the five stages like anyone else would, without his father there.

And now it's sixteen years later and Spencer is exactly the same. He's fine during the day, the loneliness is watered down to an unnoticeable state when he's around Carly, but when he closes his eyes and lets his mind wander and he's taken back to the same dark corners of his mind. Although he had "made love" to many women since he turned eighteen, he could never actually love a woman, since love and pain went hand-in-hand he avoided it at all costs. Every time he got with another girl he felt good for a while, but then woke up alone and felt worse and lonelier than before. It was a breath of fresh air, a simple feeling of "it's going to be okay" and then he was alone again. One step forward and two steps back. It was his way of numbing the pain, and he didn't want to stop because once he stopped the pain would just feel that many times worse for every girl he slept with. But he told himself he was simply waiting for one girl, just one girl, to stick around until morning and make him feel like he was actually something worth holding on to.

But what Spencer didn't realise was that the girls he so carelessly hooked up with were usually worse off than him, and searching for the same thing, and he rejected it. He was always so busy feeling sorry for himself in the morning he never put himself in the shoes of these girls, who undressed for him for the same reason- to feel special. To feel like something worth holding on to. He never realised he was hurting them just as much as they hurt him.

Lonely is a very dangerous thing to be.

Every time Spencer screwed a typical girl with a typical face and a typical body, the mutual feeling was unrequited. He loves her but she doesn't love him back. She loves him but he doesn't love her back. But really, neither of them felt anything true at all.

What he doesn't know is that he avoids love at all costs because he wants to be lonely. He never believed in love since his mother died and no girl could change his mind, whether she stays in the morning and makes him eggs or gives him the most passionate sex, he felt nothing but alone because that's what was familiar to him.

Someday Spencer will stop, he'll feel guilty, he'll spend a few nights without someone next to him and he'll finally feel the madness in his soul he had been avoiding for so many years.

Someday Spencer will stop, step outside, take a deep breath, and figure out who he is and who he wants to be and what is stopping him from getting there.

And the weight he carries, the weight of longing and brokenness and being alone, he will simply let go.

He'll learn to appreciate someone for who they are and he'll find stability in sleeping next to the same person every night.

Someday that will happen. But until it does happen, it's been sixteen years, two months, and five days since his mother died, and more than anything, he wanted to feel as if he wasn't truly alone.

* * *

Soooooooo… what do you think?

I actually find Spencer really, really hard to write. He's so whimsical and happy all the time I feel like I made him look like a madman. I feel like it's sporadic and messy and I'm going to pretend I did it on purpose because that's the way he thinks but it's really unintentional, haha. It was hard to connect the death of a mother with hooking up with random girls and it makes sense in my head but was hard to express.

So, tell me what you think! **PLEASE** review, I didn't get any on the first chapter but I think it's just because no one likes Carly without a ship.

THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE **SEDDIE**! See ya next Friday!


	3. Freddie

**Title:** The Things iCarry

**Summary:** "We all carry these things inside us that no one else can see. They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own NUFFIN.

**Author's note:** Posting this today because I'll be in Canada all weekend.

Oh my gosh, I just realised I've had three reviews on here! Why isn't sending me emails! I'm so sorry I haven't replied, I really am!

But anyway, I was inspired a little bit by Dan's comment on groovysmoothies…

"Do you really think each one thinks the other feels hatred? Or do you think maaaaybe this is just a game they've played since the end of 6th grade… and they keep playing it… because each is afraid to stop playing it?"

I actually wanted to keep ships out of it altogether to prevent any type of… I don't know, discrimination? I want ALL people to want to read this, not just seddie fans or creddie fans. It was really hard, though, because I didn't want every chapter to be "daddy issues." So, here's Freddie's one-sided Seddie chapter. Enjoy.

* * *

Freddie Benson carries in the back pocket of his jeans, a crumpled up, folded half sheet of paper with "YOU'RE A LOSER" written in black sharpie and Sam's messy handwriting. He never really intentionally carries it everywhere, but usually just pulls it out of his pants pockets before he does laundry, reads it, laughs at it, and then shoves it into his back pocket, ad infinitum. It was useless to everyone else, but had such a deeper meaning within his own mind.

Freddie Benson and Sam Puckett were playing a game- it had no name and the rules were undefined but it went something like this:

1.) Never, EVER talk about it

2.) Have fun

3.) Share secrets

4.) Cry on each others' shoulders

5.) Steal glances at one another

6.) Every once in a while, give subtle kisses that no one sees

7.) Pretend to hate each other

The only way to lose this game was to fall in love. Yes, who ever falls in love first, wins. And though he would never, ever admit it to her, he lost a long time ago.

He often felt it was all in his head. It was all false hope, their entire friendship; their kiss didn't even happen. He was thinking too much of prolonged eye contact, the sparks when her hand brushed his was a figment of his imagination. His mind twisted her words around to mean more than they actually do. She was utterly fascinating, and he was too awkward and too nerdy for her and they might as well not even be friends because they would never be together.

And she hated him.

He hated her, too. He was in love with a girl he hated. She insulted him. She physically assaulted him. She criticised him. She was a professional liar, but was brutally honest, and swore at anyone who couldn't take it. She was evil and messy and bitter and irritating and a heavy sleeper and never texted back.

But he didn't hate her, he never did. He held onto this hate so stubbornly, knowing once he let go of it he would have to deal with what was now reality, unrequited love. He loved her. But he didn't like her.

What came with this love wasn't pain, but fear. He was scared all of the sudden and he didn't know what he was scared of. He was scared to quit playing this game simply because they had been playing it for so long… He was scared that he would give her his all and she would laugh and throw it away because she didn't feel the same way.

He hated her, but it was only for show. He does not hate her and did not hate her and never hated her. Sure, sometimes, when it came to Sam Puckett, he got hurt and angry and confused by her, but hate never came into it.

It's funny, he thought, how the mind associates one thing with another. Like how he thought of her skin when he smelled strawberries. How he subtly laughed to himself when he was reminded of their inside jokes; he thought of her when he saw caramel candies or spray paint or big mud puddles or circuses or spiders or broken wrists.

She broke her wrist the day he fell in love with her.

It was a nice day, near the end of their junior year in high school, and clearly, no one wanted to be in class.

She passed a note to him in the seat in front of her, not bothering to fold it up.

"Lets ditch math" It said. He passed his own note back, "No, you're failing."

"YOU'RE A LOSER" was thrown onto his desk quickly. He smiled to himself, hoping no one noticed, folded it up and put it in his back pocket, which was an untold submission.

They met at his car when the class was over, started driving with no real sense of direction.

"Pull over!" Sam suddenly broke the comfortable silence that surrounded them.

"What!" he yelled back, startled.

"I wanna climb that tree over there." she sounded excited.

He groaned, knowing this wouldn't turn out well, "Sammm…."

But he pulled over anyway, knowing that if he didn't oblige, he'd eventually end up pulling over anyway, but with a bruise on his arm.

"Just so you know, I don't approve of this. You're gonna get hurt, Sam." He said as she made her way up, now knowing better than to panic or tell her what to do because she wouldn't listen.

As she was murmuring under her breath about how much fun he wasn't, she suddenly rolled off a branch and fell to the ground with a loud scream.

He groaned again, rushing over to her "Awwww, _Saammmm!_"

She rolled around and sat up, looking at her bleeding hands.

"Well, that hurt."

"Hurt? You almost busted your ass." He said, pulling his mini first aid kit out of his backpack, for once thankful he had a mother that forced him to carry one.

She stayed calm as he cleaned the scrape on her right hand, but winced as he took her left hand in his.

"Sam, I think your wrist is broken." He said after carefully investigating it, trying his best not to hurt her even more.

"Well, fix it!" she said, with panic in her voice. He helped her stand up and made sure she made it to the car, thinking she was surprisingly calm for being a dramatic girl with a possibly broken wrist.

"Jesus, Benson, drive more carefully." she muttered from the backseat, smoking a cigarette, knowing he hated it. He looked in the rearview mirror and his warm chocolate eyes met with her glossy blue ones; she stuck her tongue out at him. He smiled and shook his head.

He waited outside the emergency room as they fixed her up, and soon she came out of the hospital room with a bright red cast on her wrist.

"Alright, Benson, say it." She said, rolling her eyes and walking towards him.

"Say what?"

"I told you so." She replied in her signature mocking voice.

"You know I'm not big on rubbing it in."

"Yeah, you are!" she said matter-of-factly.

"Let's just go." He said, smiling back at her.

"Are you tilting? I think you're tilting. That cast probably weighs more than your whole arm. He said as they walked to his car.

"I'm not tilting." She snapped back.

"Here, hold my backpack on your other side."

"Hold your own damn backpack."

"Glad to see the fall didn't mess with your bitterness glands."

"Shut up."

Before he dropped her off in front of her house, Sam looked around to see if any was around, then gave him a small kiss on the cheek.

"You shoulda talked me out of ditching math, you dunce." And with that, she left his car with a smile on her face. He understood that was his "thank you."

He knows she doesn't care and he never told her, but that's the moment he fell in love with her.

Sam Puckett had such a hold on Freddie Benson.

She was an enourmously stubborn pain in the ass, and he loved her.

And he felt like _such_ a loser.

* * *

Not gonna lie, I do love this chapter. I think it's insanely adorable and realistic and in character.

I've always seen Seddie as being kind of one sided. Freddie was smiling his face off after they kissed and Sam just looked awkward. But it's obviously not tearing him apart too much, ya know?

I do really like writing these because of the personalization, might be the word I'm looking for? I don't know, I'm doing really badly at word choice today, but it's the concept of like… ranch dressing and croutons reminds me of this one night in seventh grade with my best friend. Watermelon bubble gum takes me back to last year with my boyfriend. How a smell or an object can make you think of a certain person, it's what makes this fic special, and I like that.

Anyway, r&r! please!


	4. Sam

**Title:** The Things iCarry

**Summary:** "We all carry these things inside us that no one else can see. They hold us down like anchors, they drown us out at sea."

**Disclaimer**: I don't own NUFFIN.

**Author's note:** I don't even know the last time I updated this- I'm sure it's been months- but I've committed this weekend to finishing every project that I've ditched, so I'm proud to have finished this.

For writing this in only a few hours, I don't hate it.

There is some slight Seddie, but it's not too extreme. It's potent enough to be noticed, but not passionate enough to turn off a Creddie shipper, I don't think. That's really not the point of the chapter, but I did like to include it. ;)

(Have you noticed that in every chapter, I've made a reference to another chapter?)

WARNING: This chapter contains ABUSE and can be triggering.

* * *

Sam Puckett always had a bag packed. In it, she had three pairs of pants, six shirts, various undergarments, one pair of her distinctive patterned sneakers and a 3-page long list, and a pen. Every time she was hurt or hit or heartbroken she clutched it desperately as if she were drowning and it was the last molecule of oxygen. She read, and sometimes added to, the list of 347 alternatives that might be a better decision than running away and always concluded that escape was still the best thing for her to do.

One particularly bad night she called up the one boy she would never admit was her best friend, ordering him to come pick her up. When Sam wasn't yelling directions at him she bit her lip and took deep breaths, her best way to prevent herself from crying.

She tricked him into going back to one of her best memories, a large tree on the side of the road that she climbed 3 years ago and broke her wrist. Every time it snowed her wrist cramped up and reminded her of kissing him on the cheek, only showing her more how much love only hurts.

"We could run away, you know? Leave?" she said, her voice composed with seriousness.

"To where?"

"Anywhere." her voice was now just a whisper.

The blonde that was so grown up for her age was still oblivious to the fact that this boy loved her, and wanting nothing than to disappear with her too. But he knew better.

"You know we can't. You know each and every second you'd want to call your mom and say sorry and say it was a mistake and you want to come back home." he tried his best not to sound spiteful or insulting.

"That's not true!" she said, getting angry.

"It's an impossibility."

But she knew that he was right, and that just made her crave the escape even more.

The silence surrounding them made her wonder what turned her into the person she had become, what made her want to put on her plaid Nikes and run away on foot if she had to, without even considering telling her best friend she loved him.

In the beginning, she never thought it would elevate to the point that it did. But, of course, she was probably too young to tell.

You see, her father always grabbed her wrist a little too tightly, made threats that were a little too physical, and played a little too rough. But it surprised Sam Puckett when her father, her knight in shining armor, purposely backhanded her across the mouth when she talked back. Finally, the day her hero beat her into near unconsciousness was the day he left.

Sam's now added this to the part her brain storing these repressed memories, but the next morning she silently lay on the stairs, listening to her already drunk mother argue with her now hung over father.

Some may think otherwise, but her mother loved her and still does.

"I don't want you treating my daughter that way." she said to him.

"Come ON, Pam, I was just bluffing." he said, rubbing his temples. Sam carefully inspected the bruises her father never remembered giving her.

The argument continued, and eventually ended with her father storming out of the house. Sam whimpered a small "No" and reached through the bars toward him.

And then she waited. For such a long time, she searched for his face in crowds, reached out for his hand only to realize he was nowhere to be found. And every single time, she wondered when her dad was coming home.

Sam Puckett's bruises faded and then the visible damage was gone, just like her dear old father.

There's one memory Sam frequently returns to, only months after he had left. She was on her knees, gingerly holding her poor, dead hamster in her hands as tears fell from her eyes.

"It was your own fault," her mother said loudly from the kitchen, "You never fed the damn thing."

And in that moment, Sam understood why her father had left, and she forgave him, just a little.

It was six years later when the doorbell rang. Sam answered it, being the only one home.

She waited for so long and there he was, standing right in front of her.

His face was worn six more years and he carried half a dozen roses, as if one rose each could make her forget 365 days of his absence.

That was the day she packed her bags, when he came back. Living with her single mother was the closest thing she ever had to okay.

There was an "impromptu family reunion" that very same day, as if her father had come back from something impressive like the military or prison.

That night Sam slipped out the back door to sneak a cigarette, and there he was, smoking a cigarette of his own.

She couldn't even look at his blue eyes, the way they mirrored hers almost perfectly would only fuel her hatred, knowing that he was a part of her and she was a part of him.

"I waited." she hissed angrily into the smoke, "I waited for so long. And you weren't there." She stared forward into the blackness, the only light at the end of their cigarettes.

"Sam, you know I wanted to be." he replied into the same shadows.

"Why did you come back! We were _fine_ without you! And we were… _safe!" _she said, crying as hard as she did the night he left. And then the tables were turned, she yelled at her father the way he yelled at her, the cigarettes were her whiskey. Then the finale, she hit her father strictly across his face, which looked so much like her own.

First she was seven, and then she was thirteen, and now she's nineteen and still more lost than she could ever imagine.

Practically down on her knees in tears, hiding behind the boy she'll never admit she loves- she knew even if she did find a better future with her packed bags, it would be ruined by her past.

* * *

(Sam's packed bag is supposed to symbolize emotional baggage- I know I should have left that up to the reader to assume, but I wanted to share in case no one understood)

Aaaaaaand, finally, I'm done with this fic! Sorry it took so long! I hoped you enjoyed the emotional journey of the characters we love so much, and I hope I've opened your eyes to characteristics you may have possibly overlooked. Everyone has a story. 3


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